The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War) (22 page)

It was twenty paces across the pool, and no way around it. Any attempt to reach the other side would require a sprint through waist-high water. No chance for a surprise, then. It was a good location for a meet. Corin felt a touch of grudging admiration. Here on their home turf, the Vestossis certainly knew how to run a show.

But still there was no sign of Blake. In his boredom, Corin took careful stock of all four guards. They were broad of shoulder, straight of spine, with the look of former soldiers about them. They wore daggers on their belts and knives in their boots, and every man among them carried a loaded crossbow. That could certainly do some damage from across the pool. He licked his lips and leaned his head toward Ezio.

“How much do you trust your don?”

“He is an honorable man. Hold your tongue.”

“How long do you intend to wait here for him?”

“I would not like my chances of leaving here before he grants permission. He is not a much forgiving man.”

“That he’s not,” Corin said. He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “Fine. I just hate the waiting most.”

“You spent three months in the Wildlands alone to earn this meeting. You can wait ten minutes more.”

Ten minutes proved too generous an underestimation. At half an hour, the far door cracked again, and the shadow of the man who stepped in front of the distant torchlight did not have the bearing of a soldier. For one dreadful moment, Corin feared it was some retainer, some other hired hand like Ezio instead of Ethan Blake himself. But then the distant shadow spoke, and the voice was all too familiar.

“Master Ezio, what has become of your companion?”

“Regretfully, he did not survive the voyage.”

“Ah.” There came a whispered conference from the other end of the room, and then the speaker in the doorway raised his voice again. “Shall we wait for his return?”

“Regretfully, he did not survive at all.”

“Then he is dead? You’re certain of it?”

Ezio looked to Corin. Corin nodded once. Ezio called back, “He is dead.”

“And you, Taker? You had a mission to fulfill.”

“It is done,” Corin answered.

“And I attest to it,” Ezio said. “He has done all you asked of him, Don Giuliano.”

Corin leaned toward Ezio again. “Giuliano?” he whispered. “That’s Blake’s true name?”

“Blake was his name for a time,” Ezio returned under his breath.

Across the wide pool, Blake was still speaking. “I thank you, gentlemen. You’ve served me well, and you will be remembered.”

Corin felt a deep suspicion as to what was coming next. Everything about the meeting suggested Blake was tying up loose ends, but Corin would not have expected such treatment for Dave Taker. He darted forward, still in his disguise, and called across the pool. “Is that it, Blake? ‘Remembered?’ You promised me more!”

Blake almost didn’t answer. Corin saw him hesitate, one hand on the door, but pride dragged him back into the room. He stood, still just a distant silhouette, and called back in an even voice. “The situation changed. You should understand that. Corin Hugh’s back from the dead. You’ve served me well. Now go with grace.”

Corin cried out, “But—”

But Blake spoke over him, even as he turned his back. “Guards, you have your orders.”

Corin cursed. He drew his dagger and hurled it in
desperation
, but through the glamour’s veil, through the stifling darkness, and over such a distance, he never had a chance. It was a marvel the blade came as close to Blake as it did. It sank into the doorframe just as Blake passed through. Then the door fell shut, and all four guards raised their crossbows in unison.

For all his claims of trust in his employer, Ezio reacted nearly as fast as Corin had. He sprang aside, reaching underneath his coat and drawing out the druids’ dartgun. Still, he had no chance to fire it—to even aim—before two heavy bolts ripped through his torso, and he collapsed.

Corin spun his heavy cloak around him and dropped the glamour. All dressed in black, he disappeared among the shadows, but nevertheless he didn’t tarry. He dashed to Ezio’s corpse, snatched up the dartgun, and dove toward the outer door a moment before a crossbow bolt ricocheted where he’d been. For all his stealth, his boots rang loud on the marble floor, and this end of the room gave little space to maneuver.

He didn’t try. He sprinted straight for the door onto the alley and slammed into it hard.

It didn’t budge.

He drove a mighty kick against it, right beside the latch, but it made no difference. The door was barricaded from
outside
. Some instinct made him dodge aside one heartbeat before another crossbow bolt buried itself to the fletchings in the rotted door. He cried out anyway, as though he had been hit, then drifted farther left, as softly as he could.

The pool. It made too dangerous an approach. He cursed Ethan Blake’s black cunning. He’d had the man in his grasp—scant paces away—and now Blake was slipping away. The thought of it burned like coals in Corin’s belly. For all his caution, all his fear of losing time, he closed his eyes and called on Oberon’s power. There was no quick escape from this place, and nothing in the world could have stopped him chasing after Blake. He drew the sword
Godslayer
, with righteous murder in his heart, and flung himself through dream across the wide, dark room.

Before he opened his eyes, he tasted ash on the air. He looked and saw only burned-out ruins where the bathhouse had been.

Corin cursed. The day was gone, and Blake with it. Night lay thick and cold over the city, and the whole lot was empty now. There was no sign left of the meeting, of the guards, or of Ezio’s corpse. Of course. It had always been Blake’s plans to tie up his loose ends here. Corin wondered if he’d let the guards escape before he set the fire. It didn’t matter. Blake was gone. In a bid to end things here, Corin had lost his chance and lost more time on top of that. He cursed and cursed again.

And then he stopped. And then he smiled. Don Giuliano.
Aerome. He was not glad to have given Blake a single
extra minute
,
but that was a problem he could overcome. He had everything he needed now. He traded the glamour of Dave Taker for another face, old Josef from far-off Marzelle, and pressed out through the ruins toward the distant bustle of the city streets.

Aerome. It was not quite home, but it was a city he knew well. And now he had a target here. Somewhere in this town was Ethan Blake—Giuliano Vestossi—and he might well believe his hired henchmen were all dead. He would be satisfied. He would be comfortable at last. After all, his loose ends were tied up. He’d never see the stormclouds brewing.

Corin grinned despite the anger burning in his belly. Ethan Blake was going to suffer for his sins.

F
or some time he drifted aimlessly along the busy streets. He needed time to catch his bearings, some familiar landmark to point his way, but he needed time to think, at least as much. After weeks of grueling searching, he’d learned everything he wanted in two words from Ezio.

They were two important words.
Don Giuliano
. And there was more, though it had gone unsaid.
Vestossi. Don Giuliano Vestossi
. The family name showed in everything Corin had seen since his arrival at Aerome. It was the ostentatious carriage, the show of force in a surreptitious meeting, the contemptuous betrayal, and the gall to burn down a sprawling public building just to conceal another villainy. Corin felt a gnawing irritation at that. He wanted Blake to pay for the act of mutiny. He wanted to make him suffer for any and every pain he’d done to Iryana. But now
…
Blake had become so much more. Now he was a Vestossi—not just in name, but in deed. From half a world away, he’d sent the orders that left a righteous man dead beneath the sea, for no other reason than family politics.

Corin seethed at that. Blake had killed Ezio as well, and given orders to kill Taker, even
after
learning the man had faithfully fulfilled his duties. This was the kind of monster Ethan Blake could be. He was a wretched dog, but here in the heart of the Godlands, he was called Don Giuliano. He was respected, a noble representative of Ithale’s first family.

It was not enough to kill him. Not by half. Corin’s first thought outside the bathhouse had been to find Giuliano’s estate, to get a good look at all the grounds, and then to come back when Blake was home. Step through the dream and kill him in his sleep. It would be easy with Oberon’s power at his command. But Corin had already slaughtered Dave Taker. Dead men slept in easy peace, and Corin wanted no peace at all for Ethan Blake.

But how to make him suffer? Blake loved his power. He loved his luxury. But most of all, he loved the respect of his peers. Corin knew that well. It was pride and vain ambition that had always driven Ethan Blake, and it was there that Corin could hurt hi
m m
ost.

He’d have to cost the man his rank. He’d have to strip him of his standing. He’d have to cast him down to nothing—less than nothing—and somehow bind him there for the rest of his days. Corin went a block or two mulling that, and it felt right. It would be no easy task, but it was a righteous one.

Corin’s wandering footsteps carried him to a broad piazza in a modest part of town. He found himself standing in the shadow of some long-forgotten patron, but something in the statue’s timeworn face sparked a memory for Corin. It felt familiar somehow. For one strange moment he thought it might be a memory of Jezeeli—perhaps this was a shadow to some elfin legend—but then he glanced aside and recognized the street. He realized where his idle path had brought him.

On the north side of the piazza stood an ancient chapter house. It might once have belonged to carpenters or masons, but its walls were cracked with age and its windows boarded up. The huge polished wood doors that filled the arching entryway were sealed, and scrawled signs plastered on the doors declared this place private property. Closed. Keep out. By the look of them, those doors hadn’t opened in ages.

But Corin knew the other way around. He’d been here before. He slipped down the alley to the left and found a much newer door—this one entirely unmarked—set in a bit of darkest shadow. He glanced back up the alley both directions, assured himself no one was watching, and then dropped his glamour altogether. If there was anywhere in the world Corin Hugh might find true welcome, it was beyond this door.

He announced himself with a patterned knock, just as he’d done once before in Marzelle. The door opened and Corin wen
t in
.

And this
…
this
was a Nimble Fingers. Marzelle’s smoky
cellar
had been a breath of fresh air after so long away from
civilization
, but it had been a poor excuse for a Nimble Fingers compared to the organization in Ithale. Back home in Aepoli they did things right, but even there they didn’t have anything like this.

Behind the modest façade lay a sprawling parlor. From the entryway, Corin couldn’t see the back of the room. Tables
spotted
the floor and closed booths lined the walls, but none of them were too close together, none too large to allow a whispered conversation. The lights were few enough, the shadows thick; it would have been easy for a man to visit here unrecognized and carry on his private business. The waiters wore tiny silver bells on their wrists and ankles, just loud enough to announce their presence.

The arrangements were a marvel, but a Nimble Fingers
tavern
was only worth as much as the quality of its patrons. There too Aerome seemed ready to impress. The sprawling common room was packed, bustling with quiet activity, and even as he lingered in the doorway, Corin watched more than a dozen men arrive and melt into the crowd.

It was everything a Nimble Fingers ought to be. Corin breathed a deep, contented sigh and waded down into the throng. He’d barely gone ten paces before a man in black stepped up to walk beside him. This one wore no silver bells, but on his left hand he bore the ring of a Nimble Fingers tavern keeper. He walked tall, eyes always moving as he tracked the movements of his patrons. They never quite touched on Corin, even as the tavern keeper addressed him.

“You’re new to Aerome, but not here for the first time.”

“I’ve been before, in my younger days.”

“Oh, so careful. You can speak more plainly than that. I remember Corin Hugh, even before he was a pirate.”

Corin glanced aside, but he couldn’t place the other man’s face. He shrugged. “Beg pardon, but you have my advantage.”

“Oh, no pardon necessary. There are so many tavern keepers in the world, and none of them as famous as Corin Hugh.”

Corin chuckled. “I’m hardly famous.”

“You’re getting there. Especially among the Nimble Fingers. We heard what happened in Marzelle.”

“Already?”

“Already? Hah! It has been days.”

Corin slammed a fist against his hip.
Days?

But the tavern keeper pressed right on. “But you should know that’s not all we’ve heard. We know you asked a Raentzman brother to bring you some information, and one of our noble countrymen
…
interfered with his task.”

The messenger Francois. Corin growled. “Aye. I know it well.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know the countrymen responsible have paid a dear price for their actions.”

“The ones responsible? Or just the ones who swung their clubs.”

The tavern keeper ducked his head in a bow. “You have me there. We are not so powerful as to punish those with names, but we can keep our own streets clean.”

“We must do more than that.”

The tavern keeper spread his hands. “We’ve heard rumors of this too. You are no longer satisfied with the Nimble Fingers’ mission. You think we should be warriors? An army?”

“I think we should aim so high, if not precisely in that
direction
. We are a brotherhood—”

“Dedicated entirely to private gain.” The tavern keeper forced a chuckle. “We cannot all be heroes, Corin Hugh.”

“Then what purpose do you serve at all?”

“We are a home. We are a refuge in the storm. That is a
service
I take great pride in providing. If some among us strive for greater things, they can do so in the knowledge that there’s always someplace safe to run.”

“Oh, very well. I suppose that’s noble in its way. Do you think I ask too much?”

“If you didn’t, if that weren’t in your nature, then I suspect I wouldn’t know your name.”

Corin smirked. “You have me there. Then I will only ask for refuge here. I have some grim business in Aerome, and I fear I’ll find enemies on her streets.”

“I fear you are correct. I understand the city watch have your description memorized, and they’re perhaps the nicest of the men looking for you.”

“I appreciate the warning. Can I count on a room as well?”

“Of course. No favors asked. I have a cousin in Marzelle.”

Corin smiled. “You’re a good man, and I’m deeply grateful. I apologize if I didn’t seem that way before.”

“From what I hear, you’ve seen hard times.”

“And harder times ahead. It’s a pirate’s life.”

“Well, trust your brothers in the Nimble Fingers. Even pirates need a soft bed and a warm meal from time to time.”

“You’re a godsend, tavern keeper.”

“And about the other matter?”

Corin frowned, trying to recall. “Which matter is that?”

“The messenger from Marzelle. You sent him for
information
. It’s my understanding that information was never gathered.”

Corin spread his hands. “I have found some part of it on my own, but you’re correct. I could use some fresh intelligence.”

“Then ask. I’d like to see that old debt paid.”

“That debt was signed in blood, and it will be repaid before I’m done in Aerome. But here are the things I need to know. Where is Ben Strunk?”

“The crazy dwarf?”

Corin grinned. “Good man! In Marzelle, they didn’t know his name.”

“Gods favor ’em.”

“Hah! Yes. I owe him a minor debt, and I would like to get it paid before I die.”

“He’s here in town.”

“Truth? Thank Fortune for that.”

“Thank the Vestossis! They’re paying him handsomely to mint their coins.”

“And he does it?”

“Something has to pay for all his gambling debts.”

“Fair enough. Then I’ll forgive him that. Can you get him word that I’d like to meet him here? Quietly, I mean.”

“I can, but it might not reach him before he comes here on his own accord. Check back tonight. He likes our common room.”

Corin nodded. “He loves to lose to thieves. He says that saves him time. Otherwise he loses half his pot to honest men, then ends up paying the rest to thieves on his way home.”

The tavern keeper laughed at that, though it couldn’t be the first time he’d heard it. Corin let his smile linger for a moment and then turned back to business. “After Ben, I need current information on a man. A powerful man from a powerful family in this town.”

“The way I hear it, they’re a powerful family across Hurope.”

“Then you already know?’

“I know you bear some grudge against the Vestossis.”

“Every one of them. But especially against one who used to sail under the name of Ethan Blake.”

“Many nobles’ sons take to the seas at a certain age. It’s no easy task to unveil some particular fellow’s pirate name—”

“Giuliano,” Corin said. “I’ve done that work myself and paid a handsome price for the information. Giuliano Vestossi was the pirate known as Ethan Blake. He mutinied and stole my crew and sank my ship with a justicar in it.”

“Gods on high!” The tavern keeper reeled. “That
…
that was you? That was Blake? That was Giuliano?”

“You’ve heard rumors.”

“I’ve heard a lot of rumors. I never believed they all were attached to one man. The justicar? It’s true?”

Corin nodded. “Buried beneath the sea, and Blake sent my ship down with him.”

“Dreadful waste of perfectly good timber.”

Corin chuckled. “Giuliano. He’s the one I’m after. What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s relatively new to the city. Trying his hand at court intrigue, but he’s fumbling. He’s made more enemies than friends so far, and some of them have names. Vague as it is, that’s as much as I can tell you now. Give me an hour—”

“Take a day. I’m sore in need of rest.”

“Give me a day, then, and I can tell you everything you want to know.”

“Make sure no one dies this time.”

“We are not Raentzmen, Corin Hugh. You should know
better
. We are the true Nimble Fingers.”

“Hah. You speak true. Good. I look forward to that report.”

“And that is all?”

“Aye. That’s all. Now show me to a bed and send me
something
stewed.”

He made it halfway up the stairs before one other request occurred to him. He sprinted back down, scanning the busy common room in vain, but half a heartbeat later the tavern keeper appeared at his elbow once again.

“Can I help you further?”

“Aye,” Corin said. “I need another Vestossi.”

“Oh, this town is rotten with them. It shouldn’t be hard.”

Corin showed his teeth. “This one might prove a challenge.”

“I am prepared to impress you, sir.”

“I look forward to it. But I need more than information. I need a meeting.”

“Even that should be within our reach. What is his name?”

“Her,” Corin said. “I need to meet with Princess Sera.”